A Question Of Identity Part 18

Cat took a long drink. 'And he came home crowing that he was going to be the lead, while Hannah came home . . .'

'Precisely.'

'Wonderful. G.o.d, I should have been here, I shouldn't have gone to choir.'

'How do you work that one out? You're hardly out every night and I think I'm perfectly able to hold the coats by now. But poor Hannah really does mind very much.'

'While Sam won't give a toss.'

'He's not playing it like that. In fact, I gave him an earful and sent him up to bed early, he was winding her up so much. And I don't think I have ever had to do that before.'

'Forget everything.' That's what they said. 'Forget everything.'

So I did.

Almost.

But I didn't forget how it feels. All these years, I remembered. But then again, I thought maybe I didn't. Not actually remember. Not really.

I remembered all right.

Remembered pretty well.

Know that now.

Still, I've got my little reminders. Just in case.

They never knew about those. n.o.body's ever known.

My little reminders.

And now there's another one.

Happy with that.

Happy.

Twenty-six.

'I'VE BOOKED.'

'Simon . . .'

'It's an anniversary. I'm no good at them but this is different . . . Rachel?'

He knew what the silence was about and it was not because she didn't want to have the dinner, didn't want to be with him, didn't want to remember. It was Kenneth. Always.

'He had an awful attack last night I had to give him oxygen, he was in such a panic.'

'How is he today?'

'Better. He's slept a lot. And much better this aftenoon he's had something to eat and he's watching the Test match. G.o.d bless satellite television or he wouldn't have half the pleasure he can still get.'

'And we're winning.'

'Are we? Oh yes, he said something about that.'

'Perhaps you can get the carer who likes cricket to come and sit with him.'

'Tim. I can try.'

'Otherwise, when do we see each other, how do we see each other?'

'How's the inquiry?'

'A long progression of detail, most of which will turn out to be insignificant and irrelevant and one iota of which will be vital.'

'So can you get away for an evening?'

'Yup. I'm always on the phone, but you know . . . I'm not worried. I wouldn't risk it if I was.'

'Our anniversary . . . I remember sitting on that sofa and shaking so much the ice in my gla.s.s c.h.i.n.ked.'

'Green sofa.'

'Yes.'

Green velvet sofa. The picture of it, of Rachel sitting there, of her face as she turned towards him. It wasn't a question of remembering, because he never forgot.

He had never been in love with any woman for this length of time, though he had been linked to Diana for longer. But linked was not love. Even Freya Graffham . . .

He stopped himself. About Freya he would never know.

'Shall I pick you up?'

'Of course not. Simon, I have to see if I can organise this first.'

'But you want to?'

'Yes,' she said.

Simon felt wretched after he had put down the phone. Why couldn't anything be straightforward? Why had he never met someone, fallen in love with them, married, settled down, had a family, in the usual uncomplicated way? He walked along the corridor to the CID room feeling sorry for himself.

It was late. The team were at computers, trawling through data, trying to find matches for this, links with that, to marry the forensic detail of X with Y. It was thankless and they all knew there would be days, weeks of it. But he was confident. The murder had been some sort of signal, sent out by a man with a grudge, almost certainly not a personal one, against elderly women. This was not an opportunist. This was a psychopath. A sicko, as they all said. He had left no prints, not the tiniest fragment of his clothing or cell of his person. He knew the score. Knew just how careful he had to be.

And, somewhere, he was now gloating, going over the night in his mind, loving every detail, squeezing the last pip of satisfaction out of what he remembered seeing, hearing, touching.

It was the hardest sort of murderer to pin down, the sort with whom Serrailler had always felt an odd personal connection, as if this was between the two of them.

'n.o.body work beyond midnight. This is going to be slow and relentless so don't blow all your energy now. Go home, switch off, eat, play Scrabble.'

'Scrabble, sir?'

'Euphemism,' Simon said.

Twenty-seven.

'MUM, YOU CAN'T stay here by yourself. I'll be worried out of my mind.'

'I'll be perfectly all right. Of course I will. You heard what the policewoman said they'll be keeping a close eye on us.'

'Yes, and what does that mean? Swanning past in a patrol car twice a night instead of once.'

'It'll be more than that, I'm sure it will.'

'You've had a terrible shock.'

'I have. But I'm better now. And I think I should stay because I owe it to her to Elinor.'

'How do you make that out?'

Rosemary shook her head.

'And a couple of other people have moved out I overheard '

'Yes, well, that's up to them, but you can't live your life running away.'

'Well, if you're determined, why don't I come and stay with you for a few nights?'

'No thank you, Karen.'

'Mum . . .'

'Your place is with Harry and the boys. I've got a phone, the police have given us all a special number, and you're not far away for goodness' sake. I don't want to talk about it any more. Now, I'd like to go into the town, maybe have a sandwich lunch? I need to buy some more hooks from Frobisher's can you see where these curtains are sagging? I thought at the time I hadn't got enough.'

'Do you feel up to that?'

'Of course I feel up to it. Cheer us both up. You don't have to fetch the boys until half three, you can drop me back here just before.'

Karen still hesitated. Harry had said before going off on a job that she should leave the decision to her mother. 'She's not a child, she's perfectly capable of deciding what she thinks is best for her. She knows if she wants to stop here for a night or so she'll be welcome, but personally I think she's best facing it right away. It'll be much harder if she leaves it. Only don't tell her that, let her make up her own mind.'

She looked at her mother. It was still on her face horror, disbelief, sadness. The flesh seemed to have sunk down and there was a deadness in her eyes. Karen wanted simply to pick her up and carry her home, settle her on the sofa in front of the fire, with a cup of tea and a magazine, shelter her from the rest of life. She felt as if their roles had been suddenly reversed and Rosemary was the child now.

Her mother stood up. 'I'll go and powder my nose and get my coat. Then we can be off. All right, Karen?'

'If you're really sure?'

'I am.'

Twenty-eight.

SOMETIMES HE JUST wandered, but tonight he knew which way he'd go. He couldn't keep away. He had no feelings about any of it, just curiosity and a sort of disbelief. A woman had been in bed, safe as houses, fast asleep. Dead of night. Next thing, someone had got in, dragged her out of her bed, put her in a chair and strangled her.

Not in a story, not on the telly or at the pictures, not in a magazine. In Lafferton. His own place. On his beat.

n.o.bby shook his head.

He'd found a leather jerkin in a skip, together with a thick fleece and a wooden bench. He left the bench in a ditch to pick up on the way back but the leather jerkin was practically new and he could wear the fleece and then put the jerkin over it. Warm as toast. Not that he worried about the cold. Summer bothered him a whole lot more. Plus it was light till nine or half past in summer, not so easy to hide.

He slipped alongside the hedge and through it onto the path. Quiet. Cold. Starry sky. He liked skies. He tried to work out the star names. He could do the Bear. But then there was so much stuff in the way now, satellites and that, confusing you.

Quiet. Cold.

He went along the path to the back where the fence began. Couldn't climb that, no chance.

Quiet. Cold.

He walked a bit further then between the houses. A shadow. No one. No lights. No cars. Not even a cat racing in front of him. But there was the red-and-white tape all round the one bungalow and a couple of lamps on, big moon-faced battery jobs.

n.o.bby stopped very still.

There'd be a copper on duty.

He inched his way round until he had a good view of the garden, the path, the front door, the windows. No, no copper. Just the tape. Probably done with the place by now, crawled all over it, got everything. What else was there? No point a copper standing there all night.